A World of My Own
by AlexMontgomery
Summary: I said I wanted a world of my own. But I didn't want the world to try and kill me. Looks like I have no other choice but to trust clever Ib and cowardly Gary if I want to get out of here. But... why are you so familiar? Why do I feel like I've known you for a while? Don't worry, I'll make sure my new friends get out, even if I must lose my life. Slight Garry/OC Rated-T
1. Chapter One

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ib or anything related to the game. I only own Steffy.

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**Chapter One Small Fish**

I took my books from my locker. Someone bumped into me, predictably, my books fell out of my arms. "Sorry," one of my classmates said.

I bend down to pick them up. "S'fine," I said, sliding them into my bag.

The girl glanced back at me, she, and her two friends, didn't bother to hide their snickers. "You know, Steffy looked utterly confused when I asked her if she wanted to go bowling yesterday," the blonde said. "'But it's school night,' she said. So I said, 'so-what, it's the alley's three bocks away from here.'"

"Her brother said that they had to drive a good forty-five minutes to get to the nearest bowling ally in their old town," the brunette said.

"Ugh," the black haired girl sighed. "Can you imagine sitting for that long _just_ to go bowling? Not worth it, if you ask me."

"I'll say," the blonde took over. "How long do they drive to get a jug of milk, a half-hour?"

It was't thirty minutes, it was _ten_ minutes!

_I hate this place._

A good three month's ago my dad got a promotion at the company he works for. The down side… it required us to pack up our things and move miles away from my old home. Say good-bye to everyone and everything I knew, and land in some alien planet. From a rural town, to the big city.

I don't know how to connect to my new classmates. I'm a small fish who suddenly found herself in a big pond. Surrounded by bigger fish. I don't get it. My brother and parents have adapted pretty well to our new surroundings. My dad makes more money with his promotion, even made friends with his new boss. Mom has already made a few new friends, one of them even helped her find her new job. Even my younger brother Kevin, social butterfly he is, just loves it here.

It seems like everyone else in my family is thriving in the city except for me. I swear, I'm almost considering the option of asking my parents if I can live back home with grandma, and Aunt Marie. But… what the heck do I do if I wake up one morning, or come home from school to find grandma dead and Aunt Marie isn't home? I'd lose my head in no time flat, and need _hours _of therapy.

So, it looks like I have to suck it up, and deal until I graduate. It might not be _so, _so bad. I really like my art teacher here, Ms. Abraham, she's one of those really cool teachers you only hear about in myths. Just the other week in class, I was working on this really gruesome pensile drawing (or at least as gruesome as I could get without getting into trouble) for added effect, Ms. Abraham helped me to burn the edges of the sheet.

Which leads me to this lovely Saturday in this city I hate so dearly. I'm sitting on a bus headed straight for the local art museum. Well, okay, not _straight_ for the museum, but pretty close. For the past two weeks I've been going after school to work on a special art project. Recreating the same painting in a skethbook in different styles and mediums. I'm on my last page and decided to end it with pastels.

_Ugh, _pastels.

Upon exiting the bus, I make sure my bag is around my shoulder securely. I head to a small café for four croissants and a cup of hot chocolate. I was in such a rush to catch the bus, I skipped out on breakfast. And mom was making pancakes, too…

I only eat one croissant as I walk the rest of the way to the museum, alternating between food and drink. I throw my empty cup and napkin into the waste bin outside the museum. The three remaining croissants are nestled safely in my bag. I won't have enough money to buy myself lunch when I'm done, so these will have to hold me over until I get home.

When I paid for my emission, the lady behind the counter gave me a pamphlet informing me on the late artist, Guertena. The museum had an entire exhibit dedicated to him. One of his last paintings just so happened to be the subject of my school project. That's a part of the reason why I've been coming here so many days after school. The exhibit couldn't last forever.

As to be expected on a Saturday, the museum was filled with people. Much more than it would on a school night.

I pass many different paintings and sculptures, and come to a very secluded area. Every time I've been here, very view have ever come to see this particular painting. I sit on the floor, facing the painting that is the subject of my project. It is a very simple painting of a blonde girl with yellow roses. To my understand, it was put at the very back of the gallery because it isn't as awe-inspiring as other Guertena works. Heck, just today there were a crowd of people surrounding the 'Abyss of the Deep' floor painting alone.

But, the painting I sat before, according to the pamphlet, was the last piece Guertena did before his death. Didn't that disserve _some kind _of recognition? My thought's wander to the events of yesterday, when my classmates were talking about me behind my back. "I hate this place," I mutter to myself. My sketchbook in my lap, and pastels laid out on my bag. My eyes glance back and forth between the painting, and my work. "I don't get these city folks. How they can remember where's where. How they remember bus routes. In my hometown, all you needed was a friend with a license."

I really like this area in the museum. As long as it's not loud enough, I can say anything I want, and the only one that hears me is the painting. I find that these drawings really help me deal with my frustration. "I'd hate to stop these visits," I continue. I work on the girl's hair. I sigh. "What I wouldn't give for a world of my own…"

The pastel's I use aren't mine. Ms. Abraham let me borrow them from school. When I explained this project to her, she was more than happy to let me borrow some supplies for this.

I draw for about two house, maybe a little less, I didn't have a watch with me. My fingers are coated with mixed pastel colors, I needed to really think when I aim to put my hands down. I don't want to make a colorful mess on the white floor.

My drawing is finally done. I have mixed feelings about it. Pastel's are not my favorite medium. I decided to leave my things where they were on the floor. I get up, and head straight to the rest rooms to wash my hands.

Even in the restrooms, it feels like I'm in fancy-shmancy rich peoples house. I feel nervous just standing in front of the mirror.

One of the reasons why I hate pastels is because it's really hard to get out. While I scrub my hands, the light's overhead flicker on and off. Light bulb's must be dieing. As soon as my hands are as good as I can get, I leave the restroom and head straight to the painting where I left my bag.

As soon as I step out, I quickly notice that the lights in the museum have gone out. I would think that they were just having electrical problems, but… there's no one in the museum. Not even a worker. That's really weird, this place was packed when I was in the bathroom, where the heck was everyone?

My boots squeaked against the floor while I half-jog through the gallery. Seriously, where is everyone? Is it a holiday I never knew about? Well… no. The museum wouldn't have been opened today in the first place. Or the café I stopped at. What the heck is going on?

_Bam! Bam!_

A hand slams against the window twice, I stand in front of. I yelp, half-expecting whoever, or whatever it is to jump through the window. I wait several minutes, my legs shaking slightly. "Hello!" I shout, breaking into a run. "Is anybody here?!"

I finally find my bag and other things. I stuff my sketchbook and pastels into the bag, and quickly slide it onto my shoulder. Standing up, I realize the painting missing. It's just a blank canvas. "What?" I say out loud.

Was that it? Am I in the middle of an art heist? That might explain why the lights are out. And why there's no one here. But that mean's I'm alone in the museum with a thief. I gotta get out of here!

But, before I can move, I notice red paint seep thought the blank canvas. My heart begins to race, I can't move, I know I should. 'Want to play, Steffy?' the canvas reads.

Tear's begin to form in my eyes. I break out into a run, debating with myself whether or not I should call for help. Damn, I should've brought my cell phone!

I run into the hall with the 'Fabricated World' painting. I see some kind of message written in large, red letters on the floor, 'Come Ib.' Ib? Am I not the only one here? I notice blue paint below the picture frame. Curiosity getting the better of me, I step closer to the wall to take a better look. 'come down below ib,' it read. 'ill show you someplace secret.'

Again with Ib, whoever Ib _was_.

Yellow paint begins to drip from the picture frame. The paint quickly dried, forming words on the wall beside the blue message. 'come down too steffy lets play.'

What kind of a thief was this?!

I continue running down the halls. My head turns left and right to find someone, _anyone_ who can tell me what's going on. Finally, I make it to the front door. My hands held out in front of me to open it. I shove the door's inward, but they don't budge, just rattle.

No, no, no, no, no, _**no! **_Locked?! Seriously?! How am I supposed to get out now?!

The door suddenly rattles from the outside. Scared for my life, I run down the hall. I'm about ready to start yelling, nothing makes sense, and I don't understand what's going on.

Even thought I know full-well shouldn't, I look behind me. Almost immediately after, I run into something, and trip over it. My head whips back forward, the 'Abyss of the Deep' floor painting is within my sight, waiting for me to land on top of it.

I brace myself for the inevitable impact. The vandalized of art, the phone call home, and the mother of all lectures from mom and dad with the loss of allowance for the rest of my life.

But what is truly bizarre is that I don't hit the floor.

I sink through it.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two Ib**

I fall, head-first, down a flight of stairs, my nose hit's the floor. "Ow!" I hiss, my hands clasp over my nose. It's not bleeding, _thankfully_.

I straighten my glasses, and stand myself up. I stand in a long, dark blue hallway. Two paintings hang on either side of the walls. Am I… still in the museum?

Exhaling through my nose, I randomly travel down the hall to my left. At the end of the hall I find a small table, with a single rose resting in a vase with water. I take the rose from the vase to get a closer look. It's a yellow rose, with red tips. The colors remind me of fire. It's a little weird. The rose itself looks way too… _perfect_. The petals were shaped perfectly, and was conveniently in full bloom. There were exactly seven petals, and very few thorns. I don't know what possesses me, but I place the rose in the pocket of my coat.

I turn around to find the word 'thief' written on the walls. Traveling back down the hall, I find the staircase I fell down disappeared. "No!" I shout in disbelief. "Where did it…"

I've officially snapped. That has to be it. I just went crazy. All of this is just some crazy dream I'm having… that somehow _hurt_ when I fell. Yeah, it was kinda dumb to think it was a dream when I acknowledged pain.

Okay, I just need to continue forward, and find the exit. I open the blue door on the opposite side of the hall to find a green room with a hall of insect paintings. Sighing, I travel down the straight hall. Unexpectedly, a dark hand shoots out of the wall. It grabs me by my right arm, prompting a scream of surprise and pain.

Somehow, the hand was burning my skin right through the fabric of my coat sleeve. I stumble back, unable to see another hand on the opposite wall grab my backside. I scream again. The process repeats itself, I stumble down the hall, the hands grab me, I burn.

I fall to the floor, trembling, in pain. My breathing is uneasy. Tear's slide through my closed eyes. I hear footsteps approach me, my eyes hurt when I try to open them, and my limbs wont listen to me. The footsteps stop, and I feel someone go through my coat pockets. I don't have the voice to shout at them. Whoever goes through my pockets pulled something out, and takes off running.

I suddenly pant, my pain is beginning to lessen. My eyes flutter open to find a young girl with long brown hair standing over me. She's dressed in a white shirt, with a red tie, and a red, pleated skirt. She had the yellow and red rose in her hand, held out to me. "There were only two petal's left," she says. "So I put it in water. Here."

Sitting up, I take back the rose. There's still seven petals. "Are you sure there were two?" I ask. "There's seven."

"I'm sure," the girl nodded. She pulled out a red rose from her own pocket. "I found a plaque, I couldn't really understand what it said, but it sounded like the rose was pretty important."

My hand travels into my coat pocket, I feel five dead petals inside. The girl was right. "I'm Ib," the girl introduces. "Did you come from the museum, too?"

Ib? The same Ib from the writing on the walls? "Yeah," I nod. "My name's Steffy. Sorry, I can't say I know the way out."

"That's fine," says Ib. "I found a key shortly before I found you. Maybe we should stick together."

"That's probably a good idea," I say. I run a hand through my hair, and place the rose back in my pocket. "No telling what's in here."

I follow Ib into the next room. A pair of large, cat eyes on the wall look down at us. In the center of the wall was a fish-shaped indent. On either side of us, was a hall that would lead us to a different room. "Which way?" I mutter to myself.

Ib points down our right. "That way?" she asks.

I give her a shrug in response. We come into a storage room, filled with manikins, porcelain heads, and cardboard boxes. "So, we're looking for a key?" I ask.

"Did you see that fish hole in the wall?" Ib asks. She tears open one of the boxes closest to her. "I think the fish is the key. It wouldn't be on the wall otherwise."

I give her a nod. "Yeah," I agree. "I guess that makes sense."

I go to the opposite end of the room and tear open one of the boxes, it's empty. Overhead, the lights flicker on and off. I open another box. The light's flicker once again. I hear something shift behind me, though I assume it's just Ib moving a box. "Steffy," Ib's worried voice says.

I turn myself around to see one of the porcelain heads inching its way straight at me. Instinctively, my hands shoot out in front of me, and I shove the head down. It shatters upon impact. The younger girl crouches down. She digs through the porcelain shards. "Ib be careful," I say.

"Look," Ib stands up with a wooden fish in her hands. "I think we can get by now."

"Great," I smile. My eyes glance to the side, to find yellow paint just below the ceiling. When did that get there? "I'm sure we'll be out of here in no time."

Back at the cat-like wall, Ib places the fish key into the hole. The cats eyes go from black, to red. The room shakes. A pathway suddenly opens. We find ourselves in a brown hallway. There's a white painting in front of us, with a very small red dot.

Curious, I take a closer look at the white painting. The red dot isn't a dot, it's the letter nine. "Ib, help me remember the number nine," I say. "I don't think this would be here if it wasn't important."

Ib nodded in response. "Did you come to the museum with your mom and dad?" she asks. "I did. My parents thought it'd be fun to see Weiss Guertena's works while the gallery was still here. Mother told me to go on ahead while she and father paid for us to get in."

I bite my lower lip. Right… Ib's parents. I don't doubt that they'll be worrying about their daughter. I don't know much about law, but I really can't imagine it would be good for the museum if their daughter goes missing in their building. "No," I shake my finally. "I came by myself. I've been coming to the museum after school to work on an art project for school. Recreating the same painting in different styles."

Ibs brow arches in confusion. "Why did you need to come here so often after you finished your first picture?" she asks. "Couldn't you have used the first one as reference?"

I give her a rather weak smile. "No reason…"

Clever kid. She _does_ have a point. There really wasn't a reason for me to come as often as I have. I just… really hate all the gushing about how great our new home is. Home? No, this city isn't home.

Down the hall, we come across limp dolls hung on red cords, down the East wing. "Ugh…" I muttered.

Ib doesn't seem fazed by the dolls like I am. Perhaps she doesn't quite understand the implications? Ib leads the way into 'The Liars Room,' six paintings of different colors hang on the wall. In the middle of the paintings, was a yellow-brown door. Under each painting is a note telling us about who's telling the truth, and which direction we need to take. "Okay, I can see where this is going," I say, my arms crossed over my chest. "Most of these paintings are lying to us. We need to find the one telling the truth, in order to move on properly."

"But which one's telling us the truth?" asks Ib.

"Leave that to me," I say with a smile. "I've figured out a puzzle like this before."

That was true. Though I really don't think Professor Layton is gonna save my skin in this situation.

I look over the notes once more. Each painting points the finger at someone else as the truth speaker. But the only one that isn't mentioned is the brown one. "Okay," I say. "I think I've figured it out. Assuming this is correct, we stand in front of the statue in the other room, take four steps to the right, then two up."

I open the door and walk up to the statue. As instructed, I take four steps East, then two North. On my second step North, I feel the tile beneath my feet wobble. My face lights up. Immediately, I step off of tile, and lift it up. There's a number written on the back of the tile in purple; the number four.

"What'd you find?" Ib asks, walking up to me.

"Another number," I say. "Nine, four. Nine, four."

When I step out of the room, and turn around. My hand immediately springs to my mouth. Red paint was splattered all over the paintings while Ib and I were in the room. It was like the other paints took out their anger on the brown painting. The word 'liar' was written in yellow paint under the liar paintings. "Ib, let's go," I say quickly.

Exiting the Liars Room, Ib walks up to one of the hanging dolls. It's cord snaps, and it plops onto the ground. "There's something written on it's clothes," Ib says, picking it up. "Eighteen… and it's written in green."

"Well, logically speaking," I say, walking up to the younger girl. "All these numbers mean we need to put in a code."

Ib nods in agreement. She places the doll down, and walks up to the door at the end of the wing. "Looks like this is it," she says. "But it's a math equation. It's even color coded. Green times, red, plus purple, equals what."

"Green, red, purple," I muttered. "So… eighteen, times nine, plus four equals…"

Crap. Math was never one of my strongest suites. Alright Steffy, take this one step at a time. What's eighteen times nine? Eighteen times nine… "One hundred, sixty-two," Ib answered, already putting the number in. "Plus four is, one hundred, sixty-six."

I hear a click, and the door swings open. I must have been looking at Ib with a surprise look I don't realize I'm making, considering she tells me, "Math is one of my favorite subjects."

All I can really do is shrug. In the other room is several tree sculptures, with a painting of a barren tree branch and an apple just barely hanging. In the middle of the room of sculptures, is just one sculpture with a single apple. Ib walks pass me, she places her hand under the apple. "It comes off," she says, removing the apple. "Maybe it's like the fish key, we need to put this somewhere to move on."

"Yeah, that's probably it," I say nodding. "We haven't tried the East wing in the hall we entered, have we?"

"No," Ib shook her head.

We walk back down the hall, and to our left, down the wing we never traveled. On the wall, is a pair of red lips. "Hungry…" the mouth says with a voice deep enough to rearrange your internal organs. "Give food…"

"Guess we do need the apple," I say. I hold my hand out to Ib. "Here, I'll give it the apple."

Ib places the apple in my waiting hand, and I hold it out in front of me. I inch towards the mouth, it processed to suck my arm in, up to my elbow. I do my best to hold back a dry sob. Eeeeeh-hh! This feels so we-ee-eird!

The mouth releases my hand, surprisingly, there's no saliva on it. I am not complaining. _At all._ "This tasty…" says the mouth. "I let you pass now… Go through my mouth…"

Through the mouth? Now I'm _really_ struggling to not start crying. Having my _arm_ in the mouth was gross enough as it was. But stepping _through it_?! "Steffy," Ib snaps me out of my thoughts. She's already half-way through the mouth. "Coming?"

I sigh. "Yeah."

* * *

**Authors Note:** I really need to watch myself with this. At leas three time, after taking a few minute break, I ended up writting at least three sentances in the wrong tense.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three Garry**

Okay, so it wasn't as bad, mostly due to the mouth being wide open. In the next hall is a row of paintings, each one of the different phases of a guillotine blade living up after copping someone's limb off. My eye's widen, a horrible thought suddenly hits me. Ib's already at the head of a flight of stairs when I hear the sickening sound of a pulley squeaking. "Ib!" I shout.

Quickly, I wrap one arm around Ib, and leap down three stairs. The guillotine blade is lodge deep into the floor where Ib once stood. "Are you all right?" Ib asks.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" I ask in return, releasing the young girl.

"You startled me a bit," Ib admits. She runs a hair through her long brown hair. "But I'll survive. Come on."

Ibs actions kind of confuse me for a moment. She pretty much just brushed off a near-dead experience. Did Ib think all of this was just a dream? Or did she not fully understand the dangers? Well, if it was the case of the latter, I kind of have to assume that Ib is a sheltered child.

The end of the stair case leads us to a red room. By the time I'm already at the bottom of the stairs, Ib is pointing down the hall. "I saw something run down this way," she says. "I didn't get a good look at it."

We traveled down the hall into the next room. Several exhibits stand, with paintings hung on the walls. One of the paintings, a woman in red, was about half-way out of her painting, and crawling on the floor with her arms. We don't need to say anything to know to keep away from it.

Avoiding it is pretty easy, and we're able to get to the next door. The problem is we need - say it with me folks - a key. Ib tugs on my sleeve, she points at something on the floor where the Lady in Red once stood. "I'll get it," I say in a hushed tone. I don't know if the paintings and the like can understand us or not. So far, it looked like the Lady in Red hasn't seen us yet, so, better not risk her hearing us. "Just make sure to avoid her if she get's too close."

Ib only nods in response. I inch towards the key, with my back to the wall, which may, or may not have been a good idea. At least I know the Lady isn't going to give me a sneak attack. The Lady continues to drag herself forward. My eyes travels back and forth from the Lady to Ib, and occasionally to the key on the floor.

The key is within my grasp. With my eyes locked on the red key, I kneel down. Almost as soon as my fingers touch the key, the Lady's head looks over her frame at me. She turns herself around, and begins to drag herself in my direction. I don't bother with the sneakiness. With the key tight in my hand, I hull my ass to the door, where Ib silently encourages me. Back at the door, I all but shove the key into the lock and turn. Ib and I quickly rush into the next room. I brace myself against the door and take in a few, deep breaths. I swear, my heart is pounding in my chest.

We're in a small library with four bookshelves. Immediately, Ib went to one of the books shelves, and pull out one of the books. I walk up to Ib and look over her shoulder. It was just a picture book drawn by crayons.

It was about a girl, who made a Galette des Rois, or King Cake, a puffy pastry with a coin inside, for a friends, Carrie's, birthday. The person who found the coin would be a happy person. The birthday girl swallowed the coin by accident. The girl later finds that her mother lost an important key. She left the key on a table, the exact same table the girl left the coin. The girl accidentally baked the key into the King Cake, and Carrie swallowed it. In the end, the girl laments that she was just as careless as Carrie, the story heavily suggests that the girl went to tear Carrie's stomach open for the key.

Who would write something like that for children? Young children at that? Yeah, Disney film's had death, but very few of them involved blood! Heck, Mufasa's death was pretty bloodless for someone thrown off a cliff, and probably stampeded on postmortem. But this… This was just needlessly grim.

I take the book from Ib's hands and place it back on the shelf. "We better keep moving," I say, walking to the door, opposite the one we entered. "It's probably not a good idea to stay in one place for too long."

"Yeah," Ib nods.

We walk out of the room, and into another hall, we travel down the East wing, until we come across someone, face down on the floor. "Is he a painting?" Ib asks.

"I don't think so," I say.

I walk over the person, a man judging from his height and body build, and shake his shoulders. He let's out a barely audible, if not somewhat painful, groan. "There's something in his hand," Ib said. She kneels down beside him and pries a small key out of his grip.

The person's body suddenly tenses up. Another moan escapes his lips. "He's in pain," I mutter. I take the key from Ib and stand back up. "Ib, I want you stay here with him, I'm going to see if there's first-aid kit or something to help him around here. If he comes too while I'm gone, start up a conversation with him to keep him from passing out again."

"Okay," Ib nods. "Be careful."

I travel down to the West, into the room Ib and I never traveled. As soon as I enter the next wing, I notice something on the floor against the red carpeting. A torn, blue, rose petal. I remember what Ib said when we first met, that, when she found me, there was only one petal on my rose left. Once she put it in water, my injuries began to feel instantly better.

My eyes widen. Did something happen to that man's rose? Had to, Ib said when the rose withers, you too wither. So… the roses are our lifelines. I have to find the man's rose.

Whoever had the man's rose was plucking off the petals, and left a trail to a locked door. For reason's I'm not going to understand anytime soon, there's a window on the wall. Why would you need a window if you're inside? Ugh, never mind that!

I take the key in my hand, and unlock the door. Swinging the door open, I find a painting, much similar to the Lady in Red. Only this Lady was blue. "Loves me…" the Lady muttered, plucking off blue rose petals. "Loves me not… Loves me…"

What I do next can certainly be called stupid. I take off my bag, hold it above my head, and throw it at the Lady in Blue. The Lady's head snaps up to see me. My heart is, once again, pounding in my chest. I quickly exit the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I keep my hands on the doorknob and pull the door forward, the hear the Lady's hands scrape against the wood.

Just when I think I'm safe, the Lady comes bounding out the window. I twist the doorknob. I fall into the room and kick the door shut. When I don't hear the Lady in Blue try to get into the room, I lay back in relief. What the heck was I going to do if the Lady entered the room again? It'd probably be an endless cycle of dodging.

I roll over onto my knees and stand back up. I walk over to the blue rose, it's in a pretty sorry state. There's only a few petals left. I slip on my bag, exit the room, and run down the hall. I come across a vase filled with crystal clear water. I place the blue rose into the vase.

What happens next is like in a nature video where they speed up the process of a flower opening and closing. The missing petals on, what I'm assuming is, the man's rose begin to grow back onto the stem with great speed. I wait a few moments to see if more petals will grow in before I remove the rose from the vase.

I fill my cheeks up with air, and exhale. I walk back to the room where I left Ib and the man. She's still crouched down beside him, and he's still on the floor. I get onto my knees beside him. "Excuse me…" I say shaking his shoulders.

The man groan's slightly. He slowly get's onto his hands and knees. One hand grasped his head. "What's this…" he muttered. "The pain's gone…"

He looks up to find Ib and I. I feel my face heat up slightly. He has lilac hair with dark streaks at the roots, his bangs were grown out over his left eye. He's in a tattered black coat, with a green muscle shirt, and matching slacks. Aside from the streaks in his hair, his look was totally the image I got when I imagine a really cool, smooth, rock star type.

The man blinks a couple of times. "Eeek!" he scream's in what has to be one of the grisliest scream's I've ever heard from a man. He crabwalks backwards, a way from us. "Wh-What is it this time?! I've got nothing left!"

That image I got of the cool, smooth, rocker? Killed in one foul swoop.

Ib and I exchange looks. I find it kind of funny that a girl, no older than ten, manages to keep her head in companion to full grown man. "W-Wait…" the man says after letting the sight sink in. "Could you two have been… someone from the gallery…?"

Ib nods. "I was just visiting with my parents when all of this happened," she explains.

"I was just working on a school project," I add. "The two of us met shortly after things got crazy."

"I see," says the man. "So you don't have any idea how things got to this point, either. Looks like our situations are one and the same. Not to mention the rose. When the peals fell wounds appear on my body."

"Same with me," I say. "Though, I didn't notice the missing petals right off. This is you're isn't it?"

I hold out the blue rose. "Thank you," the man said, taking the rose from my hand. "I thought I was a goner without it. Now, first things first, shall we find away out? I think I'll go mad if I stay in this dreadful place for too long… Ah, I still haven't asked for you names. How foolish of me. I'm Garry."

"I'm Ib," the girl introduces. She then point's to me. "She's Steffy."

"It's dangerous for you two be out here on your own," say's Gary. "It might be a better idea to stick together."

I'm about to open my mouth to argue. To say that Ib and I were doing all right, and that he was the one near death. However, before I can say anything, Gary turns to walk down the hall. A painting on the wall spits out blue paint, right at Gary's feet. He let's out another girlish shrill, and falls back.

I struggle not to laugh too much as I walk past him. "Yeah," I say. My hands are behind my back as I walk. "It probably is a good idea to stick together."

"I-I was just startled," Gary argues, standing back up. "Really that's all!"

"No one said otherwise," says Ib.

My cheeks puff up with air. Looks like our little duo just became a trio.


End file.
